


To be - not seem to be - a human

by marquise_angelica



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Demon Hunters, F/M, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Post-Canon, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27724136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marquise_angelica/pseuds/marquise_angelica
Summary: The cycle of works about Vergil's life with family after the end of the DMC 5. The original was written in Russian by myself. Perhaps, there will be translations of another chapters of this story later.My English isn't perfect, so feel free to help me make translations better.
Relationships: Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	To be - not seem to be - a human

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Быть, а не казаться человеком](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27726497) by [marquise_angelica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marquise_angelica/pseuds/marquise_angelica). 



> The original of this work exists in Russian, written by myself (https://ficbook.net/readfic/9352761/24584428#part_content; https://archiveofourown.org/works/27726497/chapters/67863040#workskin). This translation is made by Ilessa Adaneth as a gift for me. I have permission for publication by my name.

Vergil, although accustomed to eternal loneliness, still did not neglect his brother's company at times. He, however, irritated steadily every day and sometimes even at night, in dreams. But in the mornings Vergil usually had enough self-control to sit in the office and read a book while Dante was flipping through another magazine, building a skyscraper of cards or kicking a rusty jukebox. The rustling of pages and Dante's occasional quiet curses – brother was busy, reading after all – brought a feeling of a strange but desired comfort.

It all started just as usual one morning. Dante, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, walked up to the table and tossed a stack of smooth envelopes onto it. The small pile immediately spread across the tabletop.

“Bills?” asked Vergil, distracted from the book for a moment. It seemed that he had seen, once or twice, his mother picking up similar ones from the mailbox outside the house.

“Yeah. I'll sort it later.”

Dante picked up a fresh magazine, flopped down on a chair and kicked his feet up. In return, one of the envelopes flew off and, shearing through the air like a good glider, covered almost half of the way to Vergil before falling.

He stared at the hand-written envelope for a few seconds (the ones from Eva always had printed stickers on them), then put the book aside and picked it up.

Hmm.

“How long have you been receiving bills from Fortuna?”

“From Fortuna?.. It's from Nero! Come on now, give it back!” Dante jumped off and rushed to his brother.

Vergil turned away sharply, caught both of Dante's hands under his elbows and hit the brother's leg with his heel as he tried to lift him into the air. Dante gasped for breath, but didn’t give up trying:

“Give it back, now, it's for me!”

“There's my name too. Stay away!” countered Vergil, so his brother even stopped messing around.

“What?”

Vergil opened the envelope with a small summoned sword and shook out two postcards. Thick, square, cream-colored, they were half-printed and half-handwritten. Vergil examined them carefully, even sniffed them; took a glance at the empty envelope – and nevertheless reread the inscriptions on the elegant piece of cardboard.

“Nero and Kyrie are inviting to their wedding,” he announced.

Strange. It seemed to him that those two had been married for a long time. They felt each other very well anywhere, without even looking. Like two comrades in arms, like two people who had lived together for a long time and acted in unison.

“Really? Oh yes! Yes, finally!” Dante laughed, snatching the invitation with his name on top. “It means I bought the suit for good reason. But you'll also need one...”

Vergil took one step back, turned around, and raised his eyebrows staring at the exulting twin. His habitually annoying red cloak was not on him this morning. But the bandages on the wrists as well as the torn jacket, with a pair of always unbuttoned buttons, remained unchanged.

“A suit?”

“Formal. Jacket, bow tie and all that stuff. I'm a jerk for sure, I won't deny, but I will not go to my nephew's wedding in a casual cloak. And neither will you! Don't even think that I won't see to it!”

“The wedding,” Vergil repeated thoughtfully. It was vaguely familiar. Rather vaguely. It was something snow-white and distant, like he is... happy and noisy, like he is not. “I won't spoil it with my presence. All the more, when you will be there too.”

“I’m sure Nero understands clearly what he’s going for,” suddenly Dante became serious, but only for a brief moment. “Without us, he will lack some family madness... Especially yours, daddy.”

“Then why didn't he invite me personally?” Vergil clamped the card between his fingers as it was a throwing knife and swung his hand. “He visits us quite often here.”

Of course, in fact that was just a courtesy. Nero didn't want to sound rude, inviting only Dante, but not Vergil. But both of them knew precisely well that they would not be happy to see each other on a day when everyone just has to look happy.

“He? Himself?” Dante laughed sincerely, and Vergil's confidence got shaken. “I bet the kid sent me an invitation only because he was afraid of personal communication on such a case! He's pretty shy, your Nero, if you haven't noticed. Next to his Kyrie he breathes like he is a steam locomotive... And by the way, it's your obligation to help your son in such a difficult matter.”

Hmm. It was unlikely that Dante was referring to the kind of education regarding relationships with women.

“In what matter?” Vergil asked cautiously, ready, however, to explode if his first guess turns out to be true.

“Oh, it's a long story! Sit down and be comfortable,” Dante told him, while his eyes lit up with devilish sparks. “I'll tell you what a modern wedding looks like...”

...After only half an hour, Vergil felt mentally exhausted. But Dante would not stop talking. And both of them were inevitably drowning in the wealth of rituals and customs. Each one, according to Dante, is essential. Even if you consider his words as usual – imperative were at least half of them.

Nero had grown up in the human world. For him, following rules of that kind was natural. He will not abandon them as he, Vergil, would. But Nero simply did not have enough time and energy to make everything perfect. As it should be.

Could trying to help him pass as an attempt to improve relations?

At least a little. At least up to the level of casual talks, as it was between Nero and V. It was hard to admit even to himself, but sometimes he missed that. Especially when everyone around could do it, everyone but him.

He was not weaker or worse than others. He could handle that.

Vergil went to the table, picked up the phone and got a look at Dante. He understood without a word and dialed the number. Vergil waved his free hand masterfully, but his brother only smirked at that and, shaking his head, rested his hands and hips on the edge of the table.

“Yes?” Kyrie's voice responded almost immediately.

“I need Nero,” Vergil demanded without bothering with undue formalities. “It's regarding the invitation to your wedding.”

It was as though Kyrie choked on something, but she came to her senses instantly and called out, slightly muffled:

“Nero! Your father is calling! Could you come over?”

A pause.

“Yes!” She answered an unknown question in the same indistinct voice: apparently, she was covering the receiver with her hand.

Another pause. Then a couple of heavy steps – and through the noise and rustle came a bit jumpy, confused by heavy breathing, Nero's voice:

“Hello. I mean, good... you've got the idea. Ugh! So, it's me. What is it?”

Vergil closed his eyes. It turned out to be easier to gather courage like that:

“Dante told me what that "wedding" is about. Do you need help?”

“Help? I mean, with all this? With the wedding? Oh. Oh! I won't refuse,” Nero answered clearly, but a little embarrassed. “Thanks for the offer. If you're not joking... though, you're definitely not. Well, I'll leave you with Kyrie, okay? She knows better what to do, that kind of thing. I have to go, sorry, see you soon!” Nero exhaled distinctly with relief and, according to the noise, handed over the phone to his bride.

“I will be there. Now,” Vergil informed her, and hung up.

Dante smiled crookedly and gave him a curious look:

“I wonder if my three-piece suit could fit you.”

“I will not wear your things.”

“The suit is brand new.”

“Doesn't matter.”

“That's what I was saying! Going to get a blue shirt, huh?”

Vergil silently picked up Yamato from the sofa and split the space so as not to see his brother's insolent face.

The most unfortunate thing was that junior was unconditionally right this time. If he had to go to a wedding, he would need appropriate clothes. Vergil rarely walked outside the agency, even more rarely he paid attention to passers-by, but every single one gave him curious glances, almost physically burning his back. Certainly, he attracted a fair amount of attention in his pretentious outfit and with Yamato in his hand. It would happen exactly the same way at the wedding of Nero and Kyrie, if he came there, of course.

There was just one more detail: Nero did not need his father there, when he had never been around. He should not deceive himself. Even if Vergil really helped him in something, it would not change anything.

Kyrie greeted him affably, as always. Perhaps even a little too much.

“Frankly, you made us a pleasant surprise!” She said, holding papers in her hands and walking with a subtly predatory gaze around the table. “I have a couple of friends in Fortuna, they helped me to draw up a rough plan of the celebration. But that's not enough to organize everything properly. We need help to arrange with everyone in time. You wouldn't mind just talking to a couple of people, would you?”

Just talking? Like Dante talked on the phone, is that it? Or like Nero and his craftswoman friend? So humanly. Anyone could do that.

“It doesn't look complicated,” he summed up, both convincing himself and accepting the challenge, and then glanced at Kyrie, looking for a catch.

“It's not difficult, not at all! It just takes... a long time,” for some reason Kyrie became embarrassed, but quickly distracted and returned to her list: “So, what do we have here? Nico promised to take care of the tent. Photographer, jewelry, dress... I will have time to finish the dress myself...” usually collected and homely, Kyrie looked disheveled like a wet bird. Her eyes moved down the list quickly, without stopping. It seemed as if it was a burden for her to do this.

“You look confused. Do you really want it?”

Perhaps that's how he wouldn't have to break his promise. Judging by the circumstances, he clearly jumped to gun on offering help. Even with Dante, he could not be immersed in the human world's everyday life so deeply and sharply. And anything sharp is always unpleasant. At least at first.

“Yes, I do,” Kyrie nodded firmly, grinned at him and immediately looked away as her cheeks turned rosy. “Nero proposed to me as soon as he made enough money to arrange it. He just didn't know then how much effort and time it took to organize the celebration. You can't imagine how happy he looked after your call!”

Happy about Vergil interfering in his life? Again?

“Indeed, I can't,” he agreed without a shadow of humor.

“And now I feel embarrassed, as if I'm setting you up,” Kyrie sighed. “Based on how calm you are, you also have no idea how much must be done, how many people there are to talk to...”

“I have promised already and I will not refuse. Say what exactly you need.”

***

On the morning of the wedding day – almost at dawn – Vergil unceremoniously woke Dante as soon as he got up himself.

Until that day, he had been engaged in wedding affairs for a week with Kyrie and her Fortuna friends. He had to endure a lot of strange phrases and looks before Kyrie noticed it and explained that he was just the father of her future husband. That simple explanation literally saved him. He did not have time to realize, how to object to obnoxiously sharp-tongued girls, and to threaten them with a sword would be redundant. To be more precise, he could, he almost drew Yamato once, but Kyrie quickly took him away and explained that people should not be threatened with sharp objects. They wouldn't understand. Vergil, however, didn't say a word that time, distinctly remembering his conversations with a florist and a priest entrusted to him. Fortunately, not an Order one: Mundus only knows what a marriage ceremony can turn into, when a priest invokes Sparda in the presence of his descendants. The power of blood, after all.

But everything had to go perfectly, since he had been assigned to oversee that. The means did not matter. That was what he got used to in the demon world. The human one was not that different. Everyone respected strength even here.

“Dante, I won't repeat,” Vergil poked him in his head with the tip of Yamato's sheath. “Get up, now.”

“Go to hell,” Dante muttered and buried his face in the pillow.

Well, almost everything.

“We only have six hours before the ceremony, starting from this minute.”

“Exactly,” came through the pillow. “And I only need ten minutes! Go to hell!”

No imagination. It looked like Dante hadn't really woken up yet.

“At least once in your life, you should not look like the shame of your family,” Vergil pulled off the blanket, grabbed his leg and dragged him face down onto the floor. “It will take much longer than putting on a suit!”

“How do you know,” Dante yawned and kicked him with his free foot, but without success. His hand moved aside, fingers twitched trying to summon the sword. “I would've bet watching which one of us Sparda will cry! Got it, did you? Cry!”

“You’re still the same idiot,” Vergil could hardly restrain himself from pinning his brother to the floor. Regeneration, although rapid, would waste precious time, which is already running out.

“And you're too nervous, brother,” Dante finally got to his feet, stretched himself with a crunching sound and brushed his hair away from his face. “It's fine. Even if something goes wrong, this is typical for our family. Deal with it, it's time. And you are no stranger to such things...”

Vergil exhaled sharply through his teeth and allowed himself not to hold back. Dante, with a short shout, stared at Yamato's hilt sticking out from his chest.

“Feel better now?” He asked curiously, stepping back to free himself.

“Get downstairs. And transform to get rid of the wound. We need to get ready.”

At least this time Dante didn't argue. Vergil waited until he walked out to the stairs, and went to his room. Dante did not manage to pawn off his own suit to him, but he nevertheless bought another similar one. And after all the efforts put into preparation, Vergil could not help but put it on: after all, he needed to discreetly make sure that the wedding was perfect. He was not enduring all this and pretending to be non-demon just to drop everything halfway. And in such an outfit, guests would not pay much attention to him. So convenient. Especially, when he had been begged not to reveal his true nature to the people, who were already perplexed by his appearance. “Anyway, you are capable to scare without even saying a word. The view alone is enough”, Nero said. And frightening the guests at his son's wedding was not the best thing that Vergil could do for him.

Dante visited him ten minutes later, as promised, interrupting him eyeing himself in the mirror once again. The glass vibrated as the door slammed. Vergil was gazing into the reflection even more attentively, straightening the bow tie under the collar of his shirt for the millionth time.

“How do you do it?” Dante asked, staying at the door, as if he was offended.

“What exactly?”

“Your hair. I can't do anything!”

Vergil turned around just to see Dante grabbing his hair back. It froze at the top of his head for a few second – and then fell back, mercilessly, under the force of gravity.

“I've seen you doing it a thousand times! What's wrong?”

“What a pity, I can't even say that it won't suit you,” Vergil brushed a hair strand away and continued to straighten his bow tie. “Just tell me: why?”

“Certainly not because I want to look like you. Seeing you is enough for me. It just, well... okay, it looks good with these clothes. I'm not going to fight in this anyway, would be inconvenient.”

Vergil involuntarily shrugged in his jacket and mentally agreed with his brother. But only partially: for him fighting would not be difficult in any form. Still though, without a jacket it would certainly be a little nicer.

“And you do not want to play the boy, pretending to be me?”

“You said it, not me!” Dante objected immediately. “And it won't work. Nero will still distinguish us by the color of our shirts. Blue and red, ha-ha-ha! Like when we were kids, really! And even if it could confuse him, not for long. Until you opened your mouth.”

Vergil only raised an eyebrow: Dante's last comment could be applied with much greater success to himself.

“So, can you help?”

All jokes aside, Dante would look better with this hairstyle. Almost perfect... until he opened his mouth, of course.

Vergil pointed to a chair.

“Sit down. I'll do your hair as my father taught me. Hold still and don't touch it. Don't touch anything at all.”

Dante nodded and flopped down on the seat. He lifted his head and a shade of annoyance came over his face: Vergil ran his fingers through his hair at the forehead, moving backwards, concentrating on magic. Here, with one hand at first, clinging to the scattered demonic energy of his brother, then with the other...

“It pinches! Hey! What are you doing there?!”

Dante recoiled. Vergil leaned forward, but stopped halfway: his brother, as he turned around, represented something in between his own perfect hairstyle and the pathological negligence of the legendary demon hunter. A lonely strand on the right side of Dante's forehead hung almost straight down, touching his eyebrow. The rest of the hair rested on the sides and top of the head, slicked back.

It will do. Vergil folded his arms and nodded to Dante pointing at the mirror. Dante mechanically obeyed.

“That’s kind of better, I like it even more than yours,” he said, appraising his reflection and studying the look of the asymmetrical styling. “And how long will it be?”

“Until you get caught in the rain, soaked in blood, or until you ruffle it with your fingers. Take your hands off, I won't repeat.”

“For a second, it seemed to me that you had decided to scalp me. Like, why not – no hair, no problem,” Dante straightened the strand, then the bow tie, the collar of his jacket and, grinning, made a gesture with his fingers, as if firing to the mirror from pistols. “I look awesome! Thanks.”

And so Dante was ready to go. And he himself was not. The excitement became stronger, as if his personal demon, looking at this stupid madness, finally capitulated, and only V, impressionable, sensitive to the outside world, remained inside his mind.

Vergil turned to the mirror and thoughtlessly reached for his bow tie again.

He was getting more and more nervous. He couldn't handle it and it was starting to bother him. After all, everything should be perfect. But how to keep an eye on it, when there will be ordinary people, a lot of people, and his stupid brother, to boot.

“Stop messing with that or you'll be late!” Dante taunted him. “You look better than usual. Just stop frowning like this, or your skull will crack in half!”

Vergil clenched his fists, ready to summon Beowulf and show exactly how the skulls crack, but he reminded himself in time that they really had to go. He took Yamato, opened a portal, and he and Dante stepped into Fortuna.

The tear in the fabric of space closed. By a directed will, the sword flared up and vanished into Vergil’s essence. He straightened his hair with a useless, nervous gesture – and walked along the house to the front door. As he was getting closer the more often busy people walked past. The sounds of work and bickering came from the garden.

An unfamiliar van was parked in the driveway, and it smelled overwhelmingly of flowers. Nero carried boxes of gerberas into the hallway. The driver sat in the cab and tapped the steering wheel with a defiantly bored look.

At the sight of Vergil, he suddenly turned pale, jumped out of the cab and began to hastily pull out the boxes of flowers himself. The last one was a tall plastic vase with blue roses. Nero tried to take it, but Nico appeared – strangely unusual with a formal hairstyle, although she was still in her everyday clothes – and grabbed the vase herself. She muttered something like: “Don't bother! You shouldn’t!" Then she looked around – and her gaze fell on Vergil.

Her eyebrows raised, lips parted in a wide, amazed smile.

“Wow!” whistled Nico and even blushed a little. “L-l-look at that! W-w-ill you take me to the dance tonight? Like, formal, as it should... I mean, as everyone will... You are dancing, aren’t you?”

Her glance slid over his shoulder. Vergil clearly sensed Dante's presence behind him. So it was not for him. What a relief.

Nico quickly stepped towards Vergil and handed him the vase of roses.

“Oh, by the way! Could you take this to the house? It is for Kyrie. A bit of blue color, as expected, huh?”

Vergil silently took the vase from her hands and entered the front door, leaving Dante alone with his most enthusiastic admirer. Something told him that communicating with Nico in such circumstances would give his brother much more discomfort than Yamato in his chest earlier in the morning. But Dante was not a kid anymore. Let him fully enjoy the consequences of his actions.

“Oh, there you are. Is Dante with you? How are you feeling?” Trish asked casually when she saw him in the mirror. She stood behind Kyrie, helping to tighten the corset of her dress.

Kyrie gasped and tried to turn around. Their eyes met.

“Good morning! You look great! It suits you very much.”

Vergil put the vase on the nearest nightstand and involuntarily straightened both the bow tie and his hair again.

“I came as promised. I will try not to spoil your evening with Nero with my presence. I will also make sure no one does instead of me.”

Kyrie did not presume to convince him otherwise, but only nodded in understanding.

“Thank you. We all really appreciate it. As well as your help.”

He smiled back for a moment and changed the subject.

“You're in the dress. Have you decided to start earlier?”

“No, it’s just a final check. Everything will start as planned, at midday.”

“Then I'll be back by noon,” said Vergil and left her room.

The next few hours were chaotic, blurry. He wandered among people, unknown and so vaguely similar to those he had met before; he watched the work on decorating the tent, altar and wedding aisle, he thwarted any attempts to have fun instead of working, and almost nobody recognized him. His cloth – his inconvenient and slightly ridiculous disguise – worked wonders. Vergil looked like everyone else and thus did not attract any attention. Even Nero only smiled, recognizing him, and waved his hand from a distance, but nothing more.

What a pity that it wouldn't work on demons: they search for Sparda's blood by scent.

Trish, who for some reason found herself nearby soon, easily tracked him down among the people exactly that way. Of course, how else could it be?

Vergil motioned her to keep a distance, without looking. The nightmares may had gone, but he still vaguely, without horror and pain, remembered her being like he was once. Servant of Mundus. And yet – a mocking copy of his mother. Dante seemed to get used to see her as an ally, while he did not have enough time. And he didn't want Trish to stay too close. Otherwise, his protective reflex was on alarm.

“Kyrie is ready. She is waiting only for you,” Trish said.

Vergil, without turning his head, examined her silhouette on the edge of his vision. Beautiful – why deny it – the demoness was already in a knee length dress, flattering her figure. On her hands she wore black lace gloves. A weightless gauze scarf fell from her shoulders.

Trish suddenly stepped to the side, leaned over to the lonely box and took something. Then she handed it to him.

“Leave it,” he said, barely glancing over a cup of white gerbera, and headed toward the house.

Kyrie stood by the window, but she turned around as soon as he entered: she must had notice him in the reflection. Now, dressed as a bride, she looked incredibly fragile. Snow-white flowing dress, soft reddish locks curled around her face, blue roses in her hair and an angelic smile. She smelled of weakness, almost physically palpable. It seemed that her bare wrists and her waist, tied up in corset, could be broken with just two fingers. He would have been able to...

Nero will never let it happen. And neither will he, Vergil, allow – demon or human, no matter.

Kyrie approached him, grabbing something from the table on the way and pinned a blue rosebud to his jacket. She looked at him without fear. The stars trembled deep in her eyes.

“It's time,” he said, and that was not at all what he wanted to hear from himself.

Kyrie nodded, smiling. Vergil took her arm and he led her out of the room.

Down the stairs, towards the music; away from home; along the flower-strewn path – to the altar, where Nero, Dante and the priest were already waiting for them. His son looked at both of them with his eyes wide open, and he seemed to be about to faint. Vergil, as a precaution, glanced sternly at Dante who was standing next to him. Nero immediately got nudged in the side with an elbow. He came to his senses and threw an angry look at his uncle, but nothing more.

Vergil, without losing his posture and pace, looked around attentively. All the guests gathered there and stood on both sides of the path, forming a living corridor. There was the smell of flowers in the air, a mixture of perfumes, and barely noticeable – sweat... and blood. Special.

Did any of the relatives have time to fight? Or did he accidentally bite himself with worry?

There was no point in checking, – because of regeneration, – and moreover, there was no possibility. Now everyone was looking at him, and many recognized. But they were neither docile nor fearful; no, people thought of him as an ordinary person.

Was it bad?

Perhaps that’s not a suitable evaluation category.

Vergil reached the altar and handed Kyrie to Nero. They nodded to each other, father and son, and Vergil took his place next to Dante.

“Well, how do you like all this fuss? Boring, isn’t it? Maybe we could go to the hell right now?” his brother whispered as if jokingly, but with a hidden hope in his words.

“If you provoke a fight now, I’ll kill you,” Vergil answered just as quietly, without looking at him: he was observing the ceremony. “I know how.”

“You're bluffing.”

“Not at all.”

“You realize that it only became more interesting?”

“Shut the hell up, both of you,” Nero whispered, slightly turning his head in their direction.

Dante raised his hands conciliatory with a dazzling smile, and Vergil took a deep breath. Had he kicked his brother or stepped on his foot trying to calm him down, he would have most likely achieved a completely opposite effect. An unpleasant feeling of both helplessness and guilt: for a moment the order was at risk, and he was the one who could ruin it.

Finally, the priest finished his speech. Nero and Kyrie exchanged their vows and kissed, followed by the burst of applause.

The weight of the rigorous ceremony was gone. However, that did not make it easier: it was not yet over.

“If you're tired, you can go, Dante,” Nero said, slightly swaying with Kyrie in his arms, as if dancing to the soft chords of an unfamiliar melody that replaced the canon. “The ceremony is over, there will be nothing more interesting. Thank you for coming. You both. No kidding, this is very important to me.”

“How could we not come? I bought a suit five years ago. And what about the “interesting” part... a friend of yours thinks differently,” Dante stared somewhere in the crowd and then abruptly turned his eyes away. “It’s Nico. She made me promise her one dance. Now she's watching me, and I won't go anywhere without some help... either from demons or from my dear brother.”

“Of course, you won't. Do what you promised,” Vergil said mercilessly. “Nero, now, after you, Kyrie is dancing with me,” and held out his hand, showing that he intends to take up his last wedding duty straightaway.

“Careful, bring her back intact,” Nero tried to laugh it off. It was evident from his eyes that he did not want to let his – from now on – wife out of his arms.

“I won't harm her,” Vergil objected, though he realized that Nero was probably not so serious. Over the past few days of preparation, his son had made him clear enough – by his behavior, his looks, by his very presence – that he would not hold against him and he was ready to start all over again.

“Yes, I know,” Nero nodded, with his look, calm and confidential, confirming Vergil’s thoughts about himself. “Not her.”

Kyrie passed into his hands, and Vergil spun her right on the path, stepping on the scattered flowers. Discordant applause came from the sides. Someone whistled approvingly – Dante, perhaps?

But it was irrelevant.

Kyrie tripped and lost her balance; Vergil caught her, pressing his hand closer to her back, and stopped.

“Thank you,” she smiled, looking down in embarrassment, and gently but firmly freed herself. Nero immediately grabbed her. Kyrie put her hands around his neck, frequently blinking.

“Everything is fine. I just didn't expect that,” she said. “Let's go to the tent.”

“Yes, that's a great idea,” Nero agreed. “And you too, let's go. Sit next to us for a little while.”

Vergil shrugged his shoulders and followed them.

As soon as he entered under the canvas of the tent, the smell of gerberas rushed into his lungs, and deep in his heart he felt the longing. There it was – concentration of human stupidity. Eating and drinking with a crowd, with noise and silly jokes, and incomprehensible rituals that would give them nothing but a sense of their own complexity. Maybe it was not too late to leave? Leave every last shred of Fortuna’s people on their own? Leave quietly... and so his work remained unfinished?

Fine. It would not get any worse, if he stayed.

...But it turned out, that it could be worse.

Another drink from the glass of juice struck him with a strange, bitter aftertaste. Something just as bitter was coming from Dante, although he was not sitting next to, but on the contrary, next to Nero: with an absolutely serene look on his face, his brother was drinking something pretty alcoholic, while telling his nephew flat jokes.

“Dante,” Vergil called sternly and felt a slight numbness somewhere at his temples. “Just try to repeat what you did,” threatened Vergil, as his brother looked innocently at him.

“What?”

“You spiked my drink.”

“No, I didn't.”

“I will not repeat myself,” and Vergil poured the rest of his juice directly into the grass.

He hadn’t drunk much, and the effect was quite weak, but it worked inexplicable... successful: the noise coming from others became slightly less irritating, and the outbursts of squabbles, threatening – as he thought – to cross borders seemed not so conspicuous. And for some reason he was no longer drawn to interfere in it, as he occasionally did, causing both indifferent and confused looks.

Dante rolled his eyes:

“You're boring,” and turned away.

However, after no more than five minutes, the situation happened again. Strange taste and sensation were all the same. Numbness and lightness felt more distinctly. It was weird – why demon blood could not burn alcohol instantly? However, Dante would hardly drink if it did not work on him.

Vergil took a look around, made sure that the tablecloth was long enough, and swung his leg, pinning Dante’s foot to the ground with a summoned sword.

“What are you doing?” he gasped.

“I warned you.”

“Yes, but not in public!”

“You provoke me, and then you pretend that you have nothing to do with it? You haven't changed at all. Still the same idiot,” thought Vergil, but could not say it: before he spoke, he lowered his hand and with a sharp movement of his fingers sent two more blades at his brother. He flinched in his chair, but endured everything in silence.

Then Nero, who had been looking at them with suspicion for the last minute, grabbed Vergil’s glass, sniffed it, and with an indignant exclamation poured it out to the same place as the last one – into the grass.

“Dante, you fool! Do you want my father to cause some extraordinary demonic things to happen here because you got him drunk? Can't you see how he tries to hold on?”

"Father". It was surprisingly nice. Such a pity that the impression was wiped away by his further words. And here he was. No appearance could hide it.

Three successive blue flashes erupted under the tablecloth: summoned swords exploded. And after that more than half of guests turned their eyes to the unusual phenomenon. Silence reigned right away.

“You're right, Nero. I don't belong here anymore. It's too dangerous for you.”

Vergil tried to get up, but Dante also jumped up and, leaning over the table in an inconceivable way, grabbed him by his shoulder.

“Wait a minute. I smell demons,” he said quietly. “No wedding would be complete without a fight, huh? Let's go and deal with it before they come right in here.”

Vergil nodded silently, promising himself to take revenge on his brother as soon as they stayed alone.

Kyrie caught him by his elbow, as he was leaving the table, and looked into his face with concern.

“Something’s happened?”

“Demons.” Now he felt them clearly too. “We'll figure it out. Don't let Nero go. Let him be next to people.”

He freed himself from her grip – more sharply than he planned – and went out into the garden, then into the street, into its alarming silence, filled with the hellish stench of approaching demons.

The transparent, weightless twilight was getting closer. The wind carried the petals of gerberas along the road and moved colorful ribbons on the trees.

Dante stood beside him, materialized his sword and slung it on his shoulder. Translating from his body language, it meant a desire to communicate. And so it was:

“Look, I'm sorry about this whole scene with Nero. You were sitting there, so sad, thoughtful, and I thought it would help. And you started throwing swords in public! Could you transform too, really?”

“But that was exactly what you wanted.”

“Not at all! I just wanted to cheer you up. This is your son's wedding!”

“You’re such a moron,” Vergil said feelingly.

There was no patience left to explain that he was so “thoughtful” because he was keeping order. And it was necessary to immediately remove all the accumulated stress. The demons that came to an unprecedented feast – the blood of three Sparda’s descendants in one place – were right in time.

Vergil changed his form, feeling his mind becoming crystally clear at once, and with a blow of his tail kicked the nearest demon away. Then he drew Yamato. With elusive pleasure, he charged making two attacks at once: a false one with the scabbard – on a demon, and a real one, with the sword itself – somewhere on his brother's body, without aiming. Dante grabbed the blade with his hand, slicing the flesh down to the bone and pushing it away. Vergil laughed viciously; his demon's form turned that sound into a roar. Dante sneered: "Watch out for the suit!" He also transformed. The twin wings opened sharply, pushing nearby enemies into the air. And in the next moment the twins, shoulder to shoulder, rushed forward competing who would succeed in killing more demons.

It was over quickly. Dante relaxed his hand, lowering his sword, and stared at his brother suspiciously still not returning to human form.

“I wonder what will grow back faster: your hands or your tongue?” rumbled Vergil, weighing Yamato in his hand. “Let’s check it out?”

“I need all of these now!” Dante objected, shimmering with living lava in his chest. “And you talk a lot! Bet I’ll cut off yours faster?”

Suddenly, hurrying steps reached their sensitive demonic ears. Vergil turned and spread his wings, ready to vanish in the darkening sky if there was someone who mustn’t see them.

It was Nero and Kyrie. They ran out into the street, holding hands and frequently looking around. The mortal woman braked at the sight of their demon forms – of course, she had not seen them like that before – and grabbed Nero's hand tighter, so he mechanically pulled her in close.

Were they looking for them? They run away from their own wedding because Nero smelled Sparda's blood and decided to intervene as usual?

Vergil regained his human form and folded his hands behind his back. He did not want either to explain himself, or to apologize. At the wedding, he did not anything wrong, and he was keeping the order properly. Their showdown with Dante was their own business.

“We're not looking for you,” Nero immediately explained, “but it's good that we managed to catch you! The fact is that we are leaving, as is customary, to the hotel for the night, and it would be very nice if someone would distract the guests' attention. Dante, it’s your finest hour. And, father...”

Dante also returned to human form and smoothed his hair.

“So now I need to figure out a new nickname for you! I don’t have a heart to call you a kid from tomorrow.”

Nero blushed scarlet, even bared his teeth involuntarily, and clenched his fists, but Kyrie's hand, she rested on his shoulder, helped him control himself:

“Go to hell, you, old boy! I’m not trying to find out what’s wrong with your private life.”

“He never had it. Not with his personality,” said Vergil calmly, although he did not know for sure. Either way, he was in the best position: his own living proof stood before Dante, bulging his cheeks in indignation.

“Vergil, you have been so kind to us these days. Thank you. I am delighted to be part of your family. You are an amazing person, even if you don’t think so,” Kyrie stepped in, without giving Dante a chance to answer.

She boldly approached and held out her arms for a hug.

“Kyrie is right. Honestly, I never thought you could be like that,” Nero added. The blush slowly faded from his face. “I'm glad I was wrong about you. I offer peace. Okay?”

Vergil hesitated, looking at both of them alternately. What should he do now? Thank them and leave? Or just walk away in silence?

V's memory of the sensations that he was not afraid of, of the touches to which he was drawn without prejudices, surfaced unexpectedly, forcing him to freeze in anticipation.

Nero and Kyrie approached and hugged him, each from their side.

Vergil exhaled, feeling as if the unbearable weight of this day had fallen from his shoulders, and he tentatively put his hands on their backs. A moment more – and it became so peaceful in the heart that he closed his eyes.

If each day in human world was such a challenge, then it was clear why he chose hell once again, even when he was free in his decision. That time, in a trouble with the tower and Arkham... But the more pleasant it was to lose all the weight at the end, when was not alone anymore. Being loved, though inexplicitly why.

Nero and Kyrie let him go. All three looked at one another – and the young couple ran into the transparent darkness, to keep the last tradition: escaping quietly from the wedding, spend their first night outside the house.

Vergil grinned at them and, poking Dante in the ribs with the scabbard, headed back to the guests: to distract attention if need be.


End file.
